


need you tonight.

by lexorcist



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Step-siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexorcist/pseuds/lexorcist
Summary: "...after the door slams, after the heavy footsteps make their way down the fall, after the back door swings open and shut. The quiet does last long. Soon it is chased away by heavy metal records or the rush of running water of the front door creaking open; she waits to hear the rumble of an engine, the crunch of tires on gravel, but tonight it doesn’t come." | Max finds a way to comfort Billy after a fight with his father. | [set between S2 / S3].





	need you tonight.

It is always quiet after-

after the door slams, after the heavy footsteps make their way down the fall, after the back door swings open and shut. The quiet does last long. Soon it is chased away by heavy metal records or the rush of running water of the front door creaking open; she waits to hear the rumble of an engine, the crunch of tires on gravel, but tonight it doesn’t come. There is just quiet. A long, unsettling quiet. She counts the seconds as they tick around the clock, and soon the looming silence makes that soft click, click, click of the clock hand sound immeasurably loud. When she can’t take it anymore, Max slides off the edge of her bed and pushes her door open. 

In the hall, the silence is a presence. She can feel it. It rings in her ears, and underneath its incessant hum she can hear the little sounds of her mother flitting about the kitchen- putting away glasses, running the tap, turning on the stove. She cannot hear her step-father anywhere, but when she hears the fridge open and the back door hinges squeak she knows that he is nursing a beer outside. 

Max looks to Billy’s bedroom and finds the door ajar. The lights are off, but she thinks she sees a particularly human-shaped lump on the bed. She sucks in her breath and walks cautiously toward the room. She raps her knuckles gently against the door. The shape on the bed jerks. Billy’s head shoots up, and he grunts when he sees Max backlit by the hall light. He lets his head fall back against his pillow.

“Billy?” 

Again, he only grunts, though this one sounds something like,  _ Go away _ . 

Max doesn’t. She takes a timid step into the room, and the another. Billy says nothing, but he does drape an arm over his eyes. In the thin sliver of pale sunlight spilling through the curtain, Max can see the purplish hue of a bruise blossoming on Billy’s wrist. She thinks about saying something, but decides not to. Instead, she moves to the shelves where Billy keeps his music. She looks to him, lying there with his arm over his face, his breath not quite ragged but not quite calm.

“Can I?” she asks. Billy lifts his arm to squint at her from across the room. 

“Fine,” he says, and his head falls back again. His voice is tired. It’s raspy. Max wonders if there’s something else that should say, or if she should just walk away. Instead, she pulls a small box of CDs off the shelf and begins to sift through them. She plucks a Mötley Crüe album she recognizes from his car and pulls herself onto her knees to set the little silver disc into the boombox perched precariously on top of the shelf. When she hits play, there is a beat of soft crackling before the music starts. She looks to Billy, and she thinks one corner of his mouth turns up.

“Good choice?” she asks.

Billy doesn’t speak at first. He is quiet as the introduction melts into the title song- a strong beat pounds out of the speakers as the band chats  _ shout - shout - shout _ . Billy’s thumb taps

against his temple in time with the music. 

“Not bad,” he says when the song ends.

“What?” says Max.

“Your choice.”

“I like it. I didn’t at first, but-”

“It wears on you.”

Billy keeps his arm over his eyes as he talks, but he sounds much more relaxed than he did before. As the tempo kicks up on the next track he seems to lose himself in the music. His fingers tap against his temple the way they usually do on the steering wheel of his Camaro. The sun goes down, and with it the light washes out of the room and Max finds that she cannot see his growing bruise in the dark. She reaches up and pulls the chain on a lamp beside the stereo. Billy doesn’t react and, satisfied, Max leans her back against the wall and lets herself just listen- to the sounds of the band, the crackle of the speakers, to Billy’s soft humming as he just-barely sings along. 

There are things she wants to tell him; she wants to ask him if he is okay, she wants to ask him if she can help him, she wants to ask him if the bruise on his wrist hurts and if he has more somewhere else. But she doesn’t. Max closes her eyes. She lets Billy be, content to sit beside him and let his sometimes-weird music play - to let him sit in a more comfortable kind of quiet.

  
  



End file.
